


Bed Sharing For Dummies

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Series: Tumblr Fic [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Background Malia/Kira, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Vacation, background scott/lydia, stiles is dramatic, werewolf jizz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4965175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles lasts about three minutes before breaking the (comfortable?) silence.<br/>“So I’ve been wondering…” he starts, staring determinedly at the ceiling. “Is werewolf jizz different than human jizz? Like, is it stronger? More fertile? A different consistency?” There’s a moment of silence, but he doesn’t dare turn his head to look at Derek.<br/>“Yeah,” he says after a moment, toneless. “It’s more fertile, tastes better too.”<br/>That was not part of his question.<br/>This was SCIENCE RELATED.<br/><i> Or: Scott and Kira decide they should all go on vacation. Stiles has to share a bed with Derek. He's handling it like a mature adult. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed Sharing For Dummies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shift (clarz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarz/gifts).



> Ha Clara I hope you at least find some enjoyment in this. It might be the most ridiculous thing I've written yet, and it gets a little fluffy, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Inspiration from [this post](http://shiftsideways.tumblr.com/post/120813295399/ruingaraf-alternative-bedsharing-fics-obviously).

Stiles should have _known_ that this whole trip was going to be a disaster. He loves Scott dearly, but while the guy possesses excellent leadership qualities and a heart of gold, he _should not_ be allowed to plan things. Stiles is the planner. Lydia would be a top second choice. Scott and Kira would fall somewhere at the bottom of the list. They’re half way through college, they should all know better than this.

Scott and Kira aren’t even dating anymore. Scott’s been “talking” with Lydia (read: skyping three times a week and pining because she’ll never like him even though she obviously _likes_ him if she spends two hours a night listening to him talk about the dorm food at Davis) and Kira and Malia have been together since the end of senior year, but for some unknown reason Kira and Scott got this fabulous idea in their heads. And don’t get him wrong, renting a cabin on a lake isn’t necessarily a _bad_ idea. It’s a pretty good one honestly. Per usual, the problem lies in the planning. Or, in the lack of planning done by Scott and Kira.

“You are being way too dramatic.”

Stiles lifts his head from where he’s star fished across the bed he’s going to be sleeping in for the week. The _full_ bed. Not a queen. Not a king. A _full_ bed made for one single person. Lydia’s expression is screaming that she’s 3000% done with him, and it probably doesn’t help that they just spent three hours together on the ride up here in Stiles’ jeep. (Scott insisted on bringing his bike for _reasons_. Stiles is pretty sure that those _reasons_ are wanting to get Lydia on that back of it with her arms wrapped around him but whatever. That’s not even the point right now). “I just don’t understand why I can’t share with Scott!”

“Don’t be dense Stiles,” Lydia hisses, her voice suddenly much closer. Stiles opens his eyes cautiously to find her leaning over him, her green eyes flashing. “You know perfectly well what is happening here. Scott gets his own bed while I pretend to take one of the twin beds in the room with Malia and Kira. I’m pretty sure _you_ don’t want to be in the bed with Scott when I finally get him naked.” Stiles considers that for a minute…

“Welll….”

“No.” Lydia jabs him in the chest with a terrifyingly sharp, blood red fingernail. “And don’t you dare act like you’ve never thought about sharing a bed with Derek Hale.” Stiles sits up so fast they narrowly avoid banging heads, covering her mouth with his hand knowing it could cost him his life.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He whispers frantically, eyeing the open bedroom door warily. “What are you trying to do make it seventy five times more awkward than it’s already going to be?” Lydia just glares, and he cautiously removes his hand. “He will be able to _smell_ my boners Lyds. How am I supposed to function? All it takes is seeing him in sweatpants and suddenly I’m thinking about his dick and magical werewolf jizz all over my face.”

“Why…” Lydia backs up half a step and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Never mind, I don’t even want to know.” She straightens her shoulders and gives him a disapproving look. “I’m not letting your awkwardness get in the way of my sex life Stilinski, so just try and control your dick and your werewolf jizz fantasies for the week okay?” She turns and _flounces_ out of the room then, completely ignoring the middle finger Stiles waves at her back.

He flops back onto the bed, staring up at the roughhewn boards that make up the ceiling. The cabin is actually pretty nice, the bedrooms and living room giving off a rustic feel with the unfinished walls and the giant fireplace and shit. But the kitchen and bathrooms are very modern and clean (although, Lydia would have never agreed to go anywhere with anything less anyways). The lake is huge and clear and sparkling, and Stiles can hear the sounds of Scott, Malia and Derek splashing around on the breeze floating through the open window. Which just makes him think of Derek, shirtless and dripping wet, swimsuit sticking to his muscular thighs, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes and the hair on his chest. He thinks about his skin sliding against Derek’s in the water, how Derek might pin him against the dock and kiss him breathless and… Now this bed is definitely going to smell like a Stililinski boner. Shit.

This whole thing is just a terrible idea.

Actually, he’s just going to name it: Scott and Kira’s Terrible Idea.

Derek cooks them dinner that night, frying up sausage and peppers and chopping salad. He doesn’t even put on a shirt and it is the worst thing Stiles has ever witnessed. Of course, it’s not like he goes outside to avoid it or anything. Stiles has always been a glutton for punishment, so he sits himself right down at the kitchen counter and offers as many snarky comments as he possibly can.

As can be expected, this backfires on him spectacularly when Derek just smirks over his shoulder and dishes it right back. Impossibly, Stiles is _even_ more attracted to him now, cooking and bantering and flexing his stupid back muscles. The food is _good_ too, which is honestly just adding to Stiles’ internal crisis. How can someone be so hot and a good cook _and_ super smart _and_ have a great sense of humor. That shit should not be allowed. And Stiles has to sleep next to this god damn Disney prince tonight. In a way too small bed. With a probable boner.

It all comes to a head three hours later, when Stiles is lying beneath the covers, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He can hear Derek chatting with Scott in the bathroom, the sounds of water running and teeth brushing just reaching his ears. In approximately three minutes, Derek Hale is going to be in this bed with him. He’s going to be _sleeping_ with Derek Hale. There’s a small part of him that wants to just chill out and take advantage of this particular opportunity, since he’s got this feeling that he could totally convince Derek to cuddle him if really wanted to. But the large majority of his brain is currently occupied with FREAKING THE FUCK OUT because there’s going to be six feet of hot werewolf under the covers with him and that is just NOT OKAY.

So obviously the best course of action is to pretend to be asleep. That way there will be no awkward eye contact or stilted conversations or like looking at Derek (which could cause bodily reactions he definitely doesn’t want happening). He’s a mother fucking grownup, he can handle this shit. But of course, Derek comes in and just completely ruins everything by flicking on the fucking sun (or the lamp next to his side of the bed) and it _burns_ right through Stiles’ eyelids, leaving him no choice but to open them.

“What the hell man?” He groans, rubbing at his eyes and definitely not kicking his feet like a child. “Warn a gu… What are you doing?” Derek just rolls his eyes and continues pulling his shirt over his head, dropping it neatly on top his suitcase. He looks well… _good_ to put it lightly, all muscular but not _too_ muscular and kind of fuzzy and Stiles just wants to rub his face on his chest. And spray his face with jizz. _Shit_. He is NOT going to think about anything _remotely_ sexual when in bed with a werewolf. When he looks up again (because yes, sometimes a guy needs to squeeze his eyes closed and think about Coach Finstock in a banana hammock) Derek has lost his sweat pants too. And is apparently climbing into bed. Wearing nothing but a _very_ tight pair of black boxer briefs. Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He knows because it says it in giant fucking letters on the waist band. Do normal people even wear Calvin Klein underwear? Like, isn’t it only male models and Marky Mark who wear name brand underwear? Is Derek secretly a model? “You’re not sleeping like that.” Stiles shakes his head violently, pushing up on one elbow so that he can wave a hand in Derek’s general direction. “Where are your jammies? Put them on like a normal person.”

“Did you just say _jammies_?” Derek has the nerve to _smirk_ as he slides under the covers, eyes _sparkling_. It’s distracting and rude.

“PJ’s. _Whatever_.” Stiles glares harder. “Why aren’t you wearing any?”

“I usually don’t wear _anything_ to bed. I’m being polite here.” He twists over the side of the bed, muscles sliding and bunching beneath his skin in a way that makes Stiles’ mouth _water_. He pops back up with a book, cracking it open on his chest. “Are you going to be able to handle this without going all No Homo on me?”

“I...I’m not - what are you - what is that supposed to mean asshole!?” Stiles squawks, indignant. Derek just shrugs, eyes firmly on the book in front of him.

“You’re the one wearing long sleeves and pants to bed in the middle of the summer. You can sleep on the couch if you’re so convinced that little gay fairies are going to come and spray glitter on us if our skin touches.”

And that… That is more words than Stiles has ever heard come out of Derek’s mouth at once. And also, rude as hell. Whatever is happening here is the opposite of No Homo. This is like, full homo. Well actually full bi but whatever. The only thing that might spray around here is his dick, not some weird ass fairies that Derek created in his mind. Which is so weird. Also, thinking about his dick _spraying_ anything is a really weird image, now he’s just imagining it like a fire hose that he has to aim around and stuff. “How did you even think of that?” He asks, awestruck. “Gay fairies spraying glitter. Wow. That’s like… on another level dude.” He’s 99% sure he hears a snort from the direction of Scott’s room. “Also, that’s not exactly what I was envisioning would happen, but you can absolutely get all up on this if you want to find out.” This time, there is definitely some giggling from Scott’s room _and_ the girls’ room. Do they not know that eavesdropping is rude as fuck?

“All set thanks,” Derek drawls without looking up from his book, and not for the first time Stiles wishes he had a built in lie detector like everybody else around here seems to have.

“Whatever man,” he sighs and flops back down onto his pillow. “Your loss.”

Stiles twists and turns and flops around until Derek lets out the most dramatic sigh _ever_ and turns out the light. They lay together in silence for a few moments until Stiles gets that _feeling_. The one where he’s drifting off to sleep and so comfortable but he _needs_ to roll over. He _has to_.  
“If you don’t stop flopping around I’m going to murder you.” Derek growls, fingers suddenly squeezing around the back of Stiles neck. Embarrassingly enough, it does calm him down, but he can’t let Derek _know_ that. So instead he flops back over onto his back, staring exaggeratedly around the room. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just checking if any gay fairies suddenly appeared.”  He grins when Derek scowls through the darkness at him, sinking back onto the bed and curling up into a ball. “Night Der,” he mumbles through a yawn.

“Night Stiles,” Derek replies softly. There may or may not be a sleepy smile stretching across Stiles’ face.

 

Of course, he can’t just sleep straight through the night. This is a new place and there’s someone sleeping next to him and he’s _Stiles_ so like, that’s never going to happen anyways. What he doesn’t expect to discover at two am is that Derek snores. And it’s like, _cute_ snoring, the soft kind that’s more like heavy breathing than anything else. It’s fucking adorable. He _has_ to tell Lydia.

 

 **ME:** Derek snores

 **ME:** its cute and i h8 it

He’s about to put his phone back under his pillow when it buzzes in his hand.

 **THE QUEEN:** please don’t ever type hate like that again

 **THE QUEEN:** malia snores too

 **ME:** she is not a cute snorer

 **ME:** wait, why aren’t you in with Scott

 **THE QUEEN:** he fell asleep before i could get in there

 **THE QUEEN:** i’m not a creeper like you who watches hot guys sleep

 

Stiles huffs under his breath, glancing quickly at Derek before starting to type out what he intends to be a scathing retort. Except… Derek is awake. And squinting at him. And possibly going to murder him.

“What are you doing?”

 **ME:** HES AWAKE OH MY GOD COME SAVE ME

 

“Why are you awake? I wasn’t even making noise.” Stiles sniffs instead of answering the original question.

“I’m awake because your fucking phone is brighter than the sun and it was _scorching_ through my eyelids.”

“Wow dramatic much.”

“I was _sleeping_ Stiles.”

“Oh that’s right,” Stiles places his phone on the bedside before turning back to smirk at Derek. “Need your beauty sleep huh? Bet you need a lot of that to keep up with all this.” Derek squints at him for a moment in the darkness, his body almost glowing in the starlight filtering through the windows, highlighting the dips and curves of his waist, his collarbones, his hips. Stiles curses the sheet lying uselessly at Derek’s feet.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” He asks finally, looking way too amused for Stiles’ taste. “Because it kind of sounded like you think I’m pretty.”

“I do not think-” Stiles snaps his mouth shut, his cheeks starting to burn. “Shut up. Go to sleep douche bag.” This time Derek doesn’t reply, but Stiles thinks he laughs at him. He absolutely doesn’t smile about it.

 

* * *

 

The next day is absolute torture. TORTURE. Scott and Kira’s Terrible Idea is THE WORST. (For some reason he keeps abbreviating it as SKAT in his head and honestly it’s pretty accurate).

The day starts out okay. When Stiles wakes up Derek is already gone, and Lydia’s the only one lounging around when he finally makes it down to the kitchen. Apparently, Scott and Derek went for a run, and Kira and Malia had planned some romantic mountain hike for today (see, this is why he is so glad Malia and Kira worked out. Stiles DOES NOT do romantic mountain hikes). Since they’re on _vacation_ Stiles kind of just wants to chill out in the house, maybe bake some cookies or something. But Lydia it seems, has other plans.

“We are going swimming.” She announces, throwing Stiles’ swim trunks at him. How she even got a hold of them, he doesn’t know, but she’s giving him that _look_ that means he could be missing vital body parts if he dares to disagree. Which is why he finds himself splashing around in the lake, alone, while Lydia lays on the dock in her bikini reading a text book.

“Why are we out here?” He asks, folding his arms along the end of the dock, resting his chin on hands.

“It’s part of our seduction plan Stiles,” she responds like it’s _obvious_ , flicking to the next page in her book.

“How?”

Lydia sits up then, placing her book carefully beside her before leaning back on her hands. She looks ethereal, long hair almost touching the dock, her skin glowing in the morning sun.

“Scott and Derek will be back from their run any time now, and I can guarantee that they are idiots and will decide that jumping in the lake is a better alternative to taking a shower.”

“Okay…” Stiles frowns, earning himself an unimpressed eye roll.

“So you are going to wait until Derek jumps in the water, and then you are going to pull yourself up onto the dock. Without acting like an idiot.”

“That doesn’t - “

“And I’m going to lay here and then kindly ask Scott to help me put on sunscreen. It’s fool proof, really.”

“Are you sure…” He trails off, watching as Scott and Derek round the corner of the cabin, shirtless and hair slicked back with sweat. They both seem to come up with the idea at the same time, grinning at each other before running straight towards the dock. Stiles is frozen somewhere between horror and lust, watching them jump over Lydia on the dock, thundering straight towards him before leaping, giant ass feet _way_ too close to his head for comfort. Drops of lake water rain down over him and Lydia seconds later, and when Stiles glares over his shoulder, both Scott and Derek are grinning at him. Well, Scott’s grinning, Derek is more _smirking_. Which is just rude, and he looks so good with water clinging to his eyelashes and Stiles really cannot deal with this.

When he turns back around Lydia widens her eyes, apparently her signal for him to carry forward with the plan. He sighs and drops back into the water, dunking his head under once more before placing his palms flat on the dock. It’s relatively easy from there to push himself up and out of the water, the regular work outs with his buddies at school and years of running for his life actually paying off in the long run. He _almost_ loses his shorts though, and he attributes the quiet gasp he hears behind him to Derek’s probable fear of seeing his bare ass. But when he’s finally standing on the dock, water dripping from his shorts and staining the wood beneath his feet, it seems that Derek has decided to attempt to swim out into the middle of the lake.

“What a weirdo.” Stiles huffs, ignore Scott’s amused look and Lydia eye rolling as he stomps back up towards the house.

 

It’s still awkward when Derek climbs into bed that night in his fucking booty short looking things. This time they’re patterned with blue and black diamonds, with HOLLISTER in big block letters on the waistband. Seriously. WHO EVEN WEARS THIS SHIT? Stiles, never one to back down and/or let Derek think he is afraid of gay fairies spraying glitter, decided to wear basketball shorts and a t-shirt to bed instead of the long sleeve and sleep pants from the previous night. Derek doesn’t even comment, just settles into bed next to him like everything is normal, like this a thing they do now, sleep together. He’s reading again too, brow furrowed slightly as his eyes track the words across the pages.

Stiles lasts about three minutes before breaking the (comfortable?) silence.

“So I’ve been wondering…” he starts, staring determinedly at the ceiling. “Is werewolf jizz different than human jizz? Like, is it stronger? More fertile? A different consistency?” There’s a moment of silence, but he doesn’t dare turn his head to look at Derek.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, toneless. “It’s more fertile, tastes better too.”

That was not part of his question.

This was SCIENCE RELATED.

“Wha - um - yeah? How so?” He stutters, cursing his inability to remain calm, cool and collected. But now he’s thinking about tasting _Derek’s_ jizz and that’s just very distracting. Not to mention that _apparently_ Derek has tasted both humans and werewolf jizz enough to make comparisons and that's just an image he really didn't need.

"Sweeter than human." Derek grunts, like this is an everyday fucking conversation. "It tends to kind of..." He pauses, waving his hand in the air. "Sparkle."

"WHAT?!" Stiles squawks, sitting straight up in bed. "Why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?! Why didn't anyone tell me?!"

"Maybe they were trying to avoid this very conversation."

Stiles glares at Derek for that, the gears starting to turn in his head. He has _so_ many questions now, although most of them he's going to save for Lydia. She is three thousand times better to talk to about sex than anyone else.

"But wait. If werewolf jizz tastes sweeter do like... Werewolf," he pauses, dropping his voice down to a whisper. " _Vaginas_ taste different?" Derek finally looks up, if only to give him the most judgmental look he's ever been on the receiving end of. Which is saying something, because Scott and Lydia _and_ Malia can be pretty scathing.

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that?" Derek asks, eyes cutting in the direction of Malia and Kira's room. Stiles' face instantly flames, and he looks determinedly down at the sheets fisted in his hands.

"Well I uh... Come on man, I was in high school! I didn't think she'd like it!"

Hysterical laughter bursts out down the hall, and really, Stiles _hates_ Malia and Kira and fucking SKAT. This all sucks. And now it’s one in the morning and he’s got this burning curiosity to see what werewolf jizz looks like. Luckily, he’s got a werewolf capable of producing some right here with him. “Whatever, just, show me how it sparkles, come on!”

“Really?” Derek asks, _finally_ putting his book down and giving Stiles his full attention. “You want me to jack myself off right here? In bed? With you watching me?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck. HE DID NOT THINK THIS THROUGH. And _why_ is Derek using that sexy tone of voice where it goes all deep and rumbles a little bit and just the _thought_ of Derek with his hand on his dick is getting Little Stiles interested in the proceedings.

“Okay no,” he denies, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t put words in my mouth man! Just go in the bathroom or something!”

“And then what? Come back here with it on my hand to show it to you? Next thing you know you’ll be wanting to lick it off my fingers.”

“Oh. My. God.” Stiles flops back down onto the bed, pulling a pillow over his face to hide his red cheeks from view. Maybe he can just hide under here and _never_ come out. Derek will have to go to sleep eventually. Then he can sneak out, steal a boat, and live his life here on this lake, only coming ashore for supplies. Maybe he’ll even get himself a parrot. He’d name it Alex, it could be his friend and they could tell each other dirty jokes. They might let Scott board their vessel every now and again, but everyone else is banned. Including Derek. Especially Derek. Who is being so calm and actually _speaking_ and it’s almost like… “You are such a dick.” He growls, turning his face just enough so he can glare at Derek from between his pillows. “You’re fucking with me aren’t you?”

Derek’s face transforms then, lips parting and teeth glinting, smirking at him in a way he hasn’t seen since back in the good old days when Derek was trying to seduce Scott into his pack. It’s unnerving really, while simultaneously making Stiles’ stomach flip and his dick twitch. “Oh my god I hate you.” He grumbles, turning away from Derek and pulling the covers up to his chin.

"You love it," Derek chuckles softly, the sound settling high and tight in Stiles chest. He doesn't dare deny it, just raises his middle finger awkwardly over his body and waves it in Derek’s direction.

 

Things only continue to snowball from there. Honestly, Stiles isn’t all that surprised to find himself seated on the end of the dock the next night with Lydia, their feet kicking back and forth in the warm lake water with a half empty bottle of wine between them.

“Today was fucking _horrible_ ,” Stiles groans, not even wincing as he takes a long chug of wine. It’s not even that bad, some cheap white that’s more fruity than anything. He’s to the point now where it’s really starting to taste _good_.

“You’re just mad because your werewolf not-boyfriend looks fucking sexy on a horse,” Lydia snaps, snatching the bottle back from him and taking an impressively long swig. God. It’s like she’s a professional fucking drinker or some shit. Even more annoying is the fact that she’s _right_. Apparently part of SKAT included going horseback riding. Why that was necessary is unclear. All Stiles knows is that Derek looked like some mix between Tom Selleck, Harrison Ford and Clint Eastwood and that riding a horse with a boner is probably the worst thing _ever_. Of course, he can’t just admit this to Lydia.

“Yeah well,” he pauses, trying to organize his thoughts a bit. Thinking is _hard_ and all. “Yer just pissed off ‘cause _yer_ werewolf not-boyfriend is too much of an oblivious chicken shit to make a move!”

“No shit Sherlock,” she hisses back, chugging down some more wine. Stiles narrows his eyes. It’s just not _fair_. Lydia better start slurring or something soon. They’re supposed to be in this together. Getting drunk, bitching about dumb werewolves, hopefully not rolling off the dock and drowning. “I don’t know why he won’t just make a fucking move.” Lydia continues, pressing the bottle back into his hands. “It’s like I have do everything around here.” She kicks rather violently at the dark water, droplets raining down across their legs.

“In Scotty’s defense -” Stiles is cut off by a sharp slap to his thigh and a glare that on closer inspection looks a little more glazed than usual.

“No,” she slurs slightly, nails digging into the meat of his thigh as she squeezes. “Don’t. Let’s talk about you and the romance novel cover.”

“Ah fuck,” Stiles sighs, attempting to maintain intimidating eye contact with Lydia while taking another drink. In the end he just groans and collapses onto his back, staring blearily up at the stars sparkling overhead. “He’s just so… ughhhh.” Rolling around on the dock probably isn’t the best idea but he does it anyways because like, _Derek_. “Lyds, he tol’ me that werewolf jizz fuckin’ sparkles and I don’t even care if it does or not but I want _his_ on _me_.” There’s a snort from somewhere in Lydia’s direction but he ignores it. “And like, his eyes are like the color of like I don’t even know, they’re like psychedelic dude.”

“I’m not your dude.”

“And like, when he talks to Kira about myths and stuff he gets all cute and excited and his cheeks get flushed and his little ‘phant ears and I jus’ wanna smooch his lil’ sexy face.” When he turns his head to the side Lydia’s lying next to him, arms tucked behind her head, elbow basically jammed into his eye socket.

“I wanna ride Scott’s dick.”

“Okay, I might be a _tad_ drunk but that is def-nit-ly filed under things I nev’r needed to know,” Stiles groans, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Jesus fuck Lyds.”

“Do you think he’s let me fuck him?”

“Oh my god.” He reaches blindly for the wine, pushing himself up on one elbow and drinking sloppily. “Probably. Whoa.” The dock seems to wobble beneath him as he flops back down, and the whole world starts to tilt, his left arm and leg suddenly warm and heavy and-

“You’re an idiot,” a low voice growls in his ear as a strong arm snakes around his waist.

“Wow rude,” Stiles snaps back, even as he clings to the warm muscular body holding him, his nose pressed against soft cotton. “Y’smell good.”

“Hey beautiful.” Stiles cranes his neck, watching with blurry vision as Scott lifts Lydia into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Oh so you’re gonna wait ‘till I’m drunk to say that?” Lydia huffs, but Stiles can see her lips curl in the corners as she wraps her arms around Scott’s neck, just like he did with Derek. Wait…

“Why you carryin’ me like a, like a _girl_?” Derek’s chest expands beneath him before he lets out a loud sigh, right in Stiles’ ear. It tickles and makes him squirm, burrowing into his chest.

“Would you rather be over my shoulder?”

And well _no_ , that would probably be worse. The lights inside the house a fucking _blinding_ and each step up the stairs is like _jarring_ and hanging over Derek's shoulder would probably result in puking. And like, Derek's arms are really kind of nice all wrapped around him and if he tilts his head a little bit his nose drags across _skin_ and it smells real good and Stiles kind of wants to taste it. "If you lick me I will rip you throat out." Derek growls, chest rumbling beneath him.

"Oh my God. Can you read minds? How’d you _know_ that?" Stiles asks, sighing deeply as Derek lays him down on their bed.

"Because you were describing it in great detail," Derek drawls as he straightens up. "You work on getting out of your wet clothes, I'm going to get you some water and ibuprofen, okay?"

"You got it Hot Stuff," Stiles mumbles, wiggling around on the bed a bit. "Hurry back and cuddle me."

By the time Derek gets back, Stiles is fast asleep, jeans halfway down his thighs, shirt rucked up around his neck.

 

Stiles wakes up with a headache from hell and a mouth that tastes like ass. There’s a bottle of blue Gatorade and three ibuprofen sitting on the bedside table, and he eyes them suspiciously. Scott doesn’t usually think of stuff like that, and Lydia is probably suffering through her own hangover, which means that _Derek_ had to be the one to leave them there. He’s not sure what to make of it.

“You should drink that.”

The voice comes out of nowhere and Stiles flails violently, head throbbing with each movement. He blinks slowly, letting his vision take its time coming into focus. Derek's stretched out on the bed next to him, an actual laptop resting on his thighs. If he didn’t feel like actual _death_ , he might make a comment about not realizing Derek knew how to use modern technology. But as it is, he’s not really feeling up to actually forming that many words.

"What are you doing?" He mumbles, rubbing at his forehead. "Why are you here right now?"

"It's raining," Derek grunts, keys clicking as he types. "Malia and Kira are cuddling on the couch and I'm pretty sure Scott and Lydia are fucking in Scott's room and the sound of your snoring at least kind of drowned that out." This is way too much information for Stiles to even think about processing right now. He whimpers and rolls over, tossing back the ibuprofen and gulping down half the Gatorade.

"This blows."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before drinking a bottle of wine and bitching loudly about people with supernatural hearing."

"Maybe you should shut up."

"Maybe you should brush your teeth, I can smell your breath from here."

And really, Stiles can't argue with that. He's pretty sure he can smell his own breath at this point. Not to mention that all this chatting in bed with Derek first thing in the morning is rapidly drawing Little Stiles' attention. Dealing with a boner _and_ a hangover really doesn't sound all that appealing right now.

"Yeah that's probably a good idea," he mumbles, pushing himself slowly up into a sitting position. It feels like his brain is actually _pulsing_ against his skull and he's probably going to DIE. And he's going to actually have to STAND UP and TAKE STEPS in a minute.

"Wait." Derek's fingers curl loosely around the back of his neck, squeezing just slightly.

"What are you... Oh yeah...." Stiles sighs, everything going warm and fuzzy. He twists to look over his shoulder, fascinated with the way the veins running up Derek's arms bleed black. "Marry me." The words kind of fall out of his mouth without permission, slurred and soft and worst of fucking all _honest_.

"Mmmmm," Derek hums, fingers squeezing gently. "We can talk about it when your breath doesn't smell like ass."

 

Stiles is half way through brushing his teeth when he realizes that Derek essentially just agreed to fucking MARRY HIM.

"Aw fuck Lyds," Scott's moans seem to seep through the bathroom wall, loud and clear and kind of... scarring? The moans and the whimpering and the _keening_ don't seem to be stopping any time soon, and Stiles really, really needs to get out of this bathroom and back to his bedroom. Where there is a hot werewolf apparently willing to marry him.

"Oh my god." He spits in the sink and rinses quickly, wiping his mouth with his shirt and half running, half stumbling down the hall and back into their room, slamming the door behind him. "You weren't kidding about Scott and Lydia, Jesus Christ." Derek just kind of hums as he burrows back under the blankets, curling up on his side facing Derek.

He looks impossibly soft, blue t-shirt practically hanging off one shoulder, collarbones looking particularly bitable in the gray morning light. His hair is still ruffled, like maybe he hasn't put any gel in it yet, and Stiles wants to run his fingers through it, wants to find out how soft it is. Derek however, seems content to sit on his laptop and _ignore_ him. He manages to wait two minutes before talking again. "So uh, we gonna talk about how you agreed to marry me a few minutes ago or?"

“Only if you agree to answer one question first,” Derek replies, tone distracted, eyes still focused on the screen in front of him. Stiles narrows his eyes. He _knows_ this is going to be a trap. Derek learned how to set traps like this from _him_ , aka the _master_. But like, this possible question is the only thing standing between him and a hypothetical relationship talk that could lead to like his dick getting touched by the hottest guy he’s ever met (who he also might be completely in love with) so…

“Okay…” He agrees. Derek turns to look at him, face carefully blank in that way that makes Stiles kind of want to punch him. Just a little. Gently. With his mouth.

“Excellent,” Derek’s lips twitch just slightly in the corners, and all Stiles can feel is pure _dread_. “Hypothetically, if my penis were to swell-”

“Oh Scott! Fuck!” Lydia’s voice seems to cut straight through the walls, almost like she’s doing whatever it is that she’s doing with Scott right in their room. She sounds like she’s starring in a fucking porno or something and if he thought he was scarred before, he’s going to be adding _years_ to his therapy sessions now. Derek’s staring at the door with this look of slight horror on his face, which Stiles is sure his own expression probably mirrors.

“You know what, never mind,” Derek says slowly, snapping his laptop closed and setting it carefully on the floor next to the bed. “I’d rather kiss you than listen to that anyways.”

“Wow, don’t sound so excited about - hey now, I’m a delicate mph-”

Derek’s hands are hot on his waist, still gripping from dragging him into his lap, but not as hot as his lips and tongue pressing against Stiles’ mouth. The whole, kissing someone to get them to shut up technique doesn’t really result in grear kissing, but it does make Stiles stop talking because really, he’s got Derek Fucking Hale’s tongue in his mouth. He’s going to take advantage of this while he can.

Derek’s lips are softer than he expected, or maybe they just seem that way in contrast to the way his beard scrapes against Stiles’ chin and cheeks. He kisses like poetry, like he’s creating art with his lips and his tongue. Stiles has kissed and been kissed a whole hell of a lot in his life time, but never like this. Derek tastes like coffee and he smells like the woods at night and home. Stiles sighs his name against his lips, letting his head fall to the side so Derek can nip at his jaw, his lips sucking sharply at the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He never wants it to stop, wants Derek’s mouth in him _always_.

He’s hard already, can feel it straining against his boxers, and it would be embarrassing if he couldn’t feel that Derek was hard too. So he just gets one hand tangled in Derek’s hair, partially to ground himself, partially to pull Derek’s mouth back up to his. This time when their lips meet he’s ready, tugging on Derek’s plush bottom lip with his teeth until he moans, soothing the bite with his tongue until Derek’s hips stutter up against his own.

“You like that huh?” He can’t help but ask, pulling back just enough to look at Derek. It’s probably a bad decision, actually taking the time to really _look_ at how red and slick Derek’s lips are, how there’s only a thin ring of green around his pupils, how pretty the flush settling across his cheeks is. It’s overwhelming.

“I like _you_ ,” Derek breathes, cheeks flushing endearingly darker. “Even if you did believe that werewolf semen sparkles.” Stiles feels his own cheeks heat as he scowls down at Derek.

“Okay first of all, _rude_. Secondly, why do you have to say _semen_? That is so un-sexy. Like honestly dude?” Derek rolls his eyes like he always does when they have arguments like this, leaving Stiles completely unprepared to suddenly be tackled backwards onto the bed. He _would_ protest, but honestly, having Derek pressed all on top of him with neither of them wearing all that much in terms of clothing isn’t exactly unenjoyable.

“Oh because using the word _jizz_ every three seconds is so fucking attractive,” Derek snaps, even as he leans down and licks a line up Stiles’ throat. He can practically feel the smugness rolling off Derek when his hips buck up in response, but that only lasts about three seconds because he definitely felt Derek’s dick touch his and Derek definitely just moaned.

“Stop being an asshole and just take off your clothes, fuck.” Stiles pulls impatiently at Derek’s t-shirt, words sticking in his throat when Derek sits back on his heels and tugs it off. It’s not like it’s the first time seeing Derek without a shirt on, hell, it’s probably more than the hundredth time, but it’s the first time he’s allowed to look, because it’s for _him_. Of course, he only gets about three seconds to ogle before Derek’s manhandling him out of his own shirt, warm hands tracing reverently up across his abs, thumbs brushing across his nipples and then across his shoulders, down his arms and suddenly Stiles has his wrists pinned above his head. He’s not really going to complain about that either, because Derek is kissing him again, slow and deep and dirty, and their hips just kind of lazily roll against each other. Well, it’s lazy until Stiles wiggles his wrists out of Derek’s grip and runs his fingers down his back, exploring the ridges of his shoulders and dips of his spine, sliding all the way down to the dimples at the base and pulling him closer.

He grinds his hips up against Derek, unable to stop himself from moaning because holy fucking shit Derek Hale is hard. Derek Hale is hard because of _him_. It’s like Christmas or something. He slides his hands down the back of Derek’s briefs and gets himself two handfuls of the best ass on this side of the Mississippi. Yeah, this is better than Christmas.  

“Fuck, _Stiles_.”

And okay, there’s definitely a hand on his dick and teeth on his neck and he’s never heard his name sound so much like a prayer in his life. With a ~~definitely not embarrassing~~ whimper, he pushes Derek’s briefs down his thighs, toes curling when the sticky head of Derek’s cock brushes against his thigh.

“Fuck,” he gets one hand around the length, stroking slow and apparently not hard enough for Bossy McBosserson, who shift just enough to get his hand wrapped around both of them. Stiles pushes himself up on one elbow, joining his hand with Derek’s, watching with awe as their hands move in tandem. “Fuck.” He swears again, squeezing his fingers just a little tighter. His muscles are already tensing in anticipation, heat curling white hot at the base of his spine. When he manages to look up, Derek’s watching his face, jaw slack. It’s probably the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life, all flushed skin and dark tousled hair and dumb little bunny teeth.

Derek comes when he kisses him, biting down hard on Stiles’ lip as his body bows. It takes less than three slick strokes for Stiles to follow, both of their come streaking across his chest. Derek pushes his fingers through it, smearing it into his skin like he wants it to stay there forever.

“Kinky,” Stiles laughs, watching as Derek flushes and goes to wipe his hand on the sheets. But he grabs his wrist before he can, pulling his thick fingers into his mouth, licking them clean.

“Look who’s kinky now,” Derek half chokes, his cheeks and ears still pink. Stiles grins and pulls off with a loud pop.

“Werewolf jizz definitely tastes better,” he announces, flicking his tongue out to catch a drop he’d missed. “I detect notes of hmmmm, peaches?” Derek’s face goes from embarrassed to flat out unimpressed faster than he could say curly fries.

“Shut up.” He growls, collapsing down onto the bed next to Stiles like a little child. Stiles just grins, tracing his toe up the back of Derek’s calf.

“Come over here and make me, big guy.”

Derek definitely makes him.

For a little while, anyways.

* * *

It’s kind of funny to Stiles, to have Derek riding shotgun in the Jeep without any sort of supernatural emergency going on. He’s just sitting there, all impossibly pretty and werewolf-y, smiling at Scott and Lydia in front of them in traffic on Scott’s bike (Lydia had even _purposefully_ packed jeans so that she could ride with him. Stiles refuses to think it’s cute).

“Remember the first time you rode in here with me?” He asks because he can’t just leave things alone. “Pretty sure you were dying and threatening to rip my throat out, with your teeth.” Derek rolls his head dramatically to face him, giving him this _look_ that is just totally unnecessary.

“Pretty sure you were rooting for just letting me die.”

“Pretty sure you had already made threats on my life before that.”

“I can still rip your throat out Stiles,” Derek growls, but there’s no heat behind the words. “Just because we kiss now doesn’t mean I won’t kill you one of these days.” Stiles just grins broadly and waggles his eyebrows, twisting in his seat to face Derek.

“We do more than kiss big guy.” Derek’s ears turn pink at the tips, and it’s probably the most adorable thing Stiles has ever seen in his life. “Come on, lay some sugar on me.”

“Oh my god,” Derek groans, but he leans across the center console anyways, pressing his lips gently to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles grins in victory before curling his fingers around the back of Derek’s head, angling his face so he can kiss him for real. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get bored of kissing Derek, the way he sighs softly against his lips, the slick slide of his tongue and the sting of his teeth and the way his hands seem to _burn_ against his skin. If Derek could just keep kissing him forever, that’d be pretty much perfect.

“Stop making out and drive asshole!!!”

Stiles pulls his head back and glances at the rearview mirror, smirking when Malia starts angrily blowing the horn behind them. He waves merrily at her and Kira through the back window, moving forward a whole ten feet until his bumper is inches from the back of Scott’s bike. Derek seems to be _blushing_ in the passenger seat, his head ducked and his fingers brushing almost reverently across his lips. He is _literally_ the cutest, and the hottest, and Stiles isn’t sure he can handle it. He reaches across for Derek’s hand, intertwining their fingers and trying to ignore the way the contact makes his heart pound. Of course, Derek seems to recover from his earlier embarrassment enough to smirk at him like the asshole that he is, but Stiles can’t bring himself to care.

He _might_ be a little in love with him, is all. Luckily, he’s pretty sure Derek might be a little in love with him too.

**Author's Note:**

> I take absolutely zero credit for the creation of Alex the Parrot. That is all Clara and is included as a tribute because I am a dork.  
> Anyways, thank you for reading! Come [tumble](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com) with me.


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